


Let's Get This Bread

by buttons_n_bose



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Flirting, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm not sorry for the title, New York, Original Character(s), Pickpocketing, Prompt Fic, Strangers, stealing bread
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 18:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20158450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttons_n_bose/pseuds/buttons_n_bose
Summary: Racetrack Higgins has seen the same girl stealing from the market square everyday for a few weeks. One day, he gathers the courage to talk to her.





	Let's Get This Bread

The baker leaves his stall unattended so often, it’s a miracle he still has any bread left to sell. He’s too distracted by the pretty florist to see the girl walking by and subtly taking two rolls and slipping them into her pockets. She keeps walking, and the crowds fail to notice the theft.

And she fails to notice me watching her from not too far away.

I lucked out, I guess. I took this spot after Kenny moved to Brooklyn, and the selling is great. The market is one of the best selling spots of New York, big and busy enough for up to four newsies...any more than that, and we start to get in the way.

I first saw her a couple of weeks ago. She was less confident then, more jittery and unsure, eyes flitting from person to person, her hand darting into the basket of tomatoes and then quickly shoving stolen goods into her pocket. Despite having been all around town, I didn’t recognize her. I would definitely remember a face like that.

As the days went on, she got more confident. Her movements were more smooth and she even smiled at strangers she passed. She started stealing a variety of different foods, even getting cocky and trying for larger, heavier, harder-to-reach items. She wasn’t showing off for anyone, but I was definitely impressed.

The next time I see her is a few days later. She’s dressed in her usual clothes: laced-up shoes, slacks, suspenders, white undershirt, plaid shirt buttoned half-way and sleeves rolled up to her elbows. I’m not surprised at her clothes — if she’s poor enough to need to steal, her clothes are probably stolen or hand-me-downs (and easier to move in than a dress). She has long hair that’s surprisingly shiny and well-managed, smudges of dirt on her jaw and cheek, and her eyes sparkle like always. A folded newspaper fits snugly under her arm.

She wanders, seemingly aimlessly, through the crowd and between the food carts. To the better-off New Yorkers, she’s just another girl they’ll forget about once she’s out of sight. She knows this, and uses it to her advantage. As she passes the baker’s stall, she swipes a loaf of bread and hides it in the folds of her now-open newspaper. Pride flashes across her face in the form of a slight smirk as she walks away, slipping one of the florist’s small buttercups behind her ear.

I feel compelled to follow her this time, and I find myself walking a few paces behind her as she disappears into an alley. I look around casually to make sure no one spotted us before turning the corner.

She’s halfway down the cobblestone road, tossing the loaf of bread (and what looks like a wedge of cheese) onto a low roof. She pulls down the fire escape ladder and jumps onto the first rung before it hits the ground. I wait until she’s on the roof before calling out. 

“Hey!”

Her face appears as she peeks over the edge. She raises an eyebrow. “What?”

I’ve imagined talking to her dozens of times, but I haven’t planned what I’d say if I actually did. “Drop the ladder, would ya?”

She pauses, trying to decide whether or not I’d steal what she has. After a few moments, she pushes the ladder down for me. I climb up and lean against the brick wall beside us, looking her up and down. “I ain’t ever seen youse before.”

“I’m good at staying hidden,” she says, grabbing a satchel from beside the wall. The satchel looks oddly familiar.

“Hey…” I gesture at it. “That’s a newsie bag! You stole that from us.”

She looks down at it innocently. “Did I? I hadn’t noticed.”

I scoff. “You got a name?”

“Yeah.” She doesn’t offer it. 

“Care to give it up?”

She crosses her arms. “Why should I?”

I roll my eyes. “You’re real stubborn.”

She smiles, sarcastically charming. “I’ve been told it’s one of my best qualities.”

“How long you been stealin’ for?”

“Long enough to be good at it.”

“Why d’you need to be good at it?”

“So I don’t get caught.”

I adjust my cap. “You’s real difficult.”

She packs the bread, cheese and newspaper in the bag. “Two compliments already. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me.”

“Would it be so bad if I was?” I flash her the smile I use on the other girls.

She steps closer, trailing her fingers along my vest. “Maybe not. But I’m not so easily fooled, Race Higgins.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How’d you know my name?”

“Newsies talk.”

“You talks to the newsies?”

“You ask a lotta questions.” She flashes me a smile before pulling down the ladder for the higher roof. “Later, Race.”

I climb down from the roof as she climbs up to the next one, but I look up before I walk away. “Hey, Pockets!”

She turns to look at me over the edge. “Pockets?”

I shrug. “If you’s not gonna give me a name, I gots to assign you one.”

“Why Pockets?”

“Y’know, pickpocketing. Gotta be careful with my stuff, or you’ll steal it.”

She grins and pulls something from her pocket. It takes me a moment to realize it’s my cigar. “You’re right about that.”

“Hey!”

“See ya tomorrow, Race.” She tosses my cigar towards me, and I turn to catch it. When I look back up at the rooftop, she’s gone.

***

It’s been about a week since I first talked to Pockets (honestly, I’m extremely proud of the name). I see her in the market everyday, and we talk for a short while before I have to get back to selling papers and she...well, she disappears.

I try not to look too eager as I wait by the egg cart, watching the baker’s stall. He’s still talking to the florist, blissfully unaware of how vulnerable he’s left his breads.

“Hey,” says a voice from behind me.

I turn around. Pockets is leaning against the wall, hands in her pockets and a smile on her face. “Well, well.”

“You’d make a terrible thief,” she says conversationally.

“Yeah?” I lean against the wall beside her, close but not uncomfortably so. “Why’s that?”

She looks right into my eyes, and I find it hard to think straight. “Your eyes are very telling. They’d give you away.”

“Oh, yeah? I didn’t know you was so observant. Do the bulls know about you?”

“Of course. I haven’t always been so good at what I do.”

“How come you steal food?”

She raises an eyebrow. “To survive?”

“But why so much? You gots family or somethin’?”

“‘Course I do. C’mon.” She gestures for me to follow her and takes me down the closest alley. We take a few turns and she opens a painted-over door, leading me into what seems to be an abandoned warehouse. “Wylie? Wylie, you here?”

“Dawn!” A boy, maybe 10 years old, comes running out from behind a stack of boxes. “You took so long! I got worried.”

“Not that long, Wylie.” She gives him a hug, which he returns excitedly. “You know I always come back.”

He turns to me and gives me a big smile. “Who are you? Are you friends with Dawn?”

“I’m Race,” I say, holding out my hand. He pauses, looking at it, then shakes it. “I guess you’s her brother?”

“The one and only!” says Wylie.

“Here.” Dawn hands Wylie two dinner rolls and a small square of cheese. “It’s all I could get this time, the market was really busy this morning.”

“I’ll save you some,” Wylie promises, but Dawn shakes her head.

“No, go ahead. I’ll get myself something later.”

Wylie nods and takes the food to the far corner of the warehouse, where a large crate and two small boxes serve as a table and chairs.

“So.” I cross my arms. “Dawn, huh?”

She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t know your real name. Why should I have told you mine?”

“It’s Anthony.”

She scrunches her nose. “I like Race better.”

“Me, too,” I say, grinning. I follow her gaze back to Wylie, who has already finished the first roll and is getting started on the second. “So...is it just the two of youse?”

She nods. “Has been for awhile now. Our parents...well, honestly, they sucked. They were liars, not just to each other, but to us, too. A few years ago, I took Wylie and we left. Unsupervised kids attract too much attention, so I do the robbery and he makes sure nobody finds our hideout. Plus, he’s a terrible liar.”

I turn to her again. “What if youse didn’t have to steal food?”

She looks up at me. “Meaning?”

“Come to the newsies lodgehouse,” I offer. “You and Wylie. We’ll set youse up. We gots food and beds and we looks out for each other.”

She glances at Wylie. “Are you sure they’ll treat him okay?”

I nod. “'Course. We gots loads of kids there. I thought you was friends with the newsies.”

“Only one. And I don’t see much of Elmer anymore.”

“Aha! So Elmer’s your inside source, huh?”

“Oh, please. I was friends with him first,” she insists. “We used to go to church together.”

I smile. “So you’ll come?”

She looks at Wylie again, then back at me. “Yeah. We’ll come.”

“You won’t regret it.”

“I’d better not.” She punches my arm lightly before walking over to her brother. She tells him the plan and he agrees enthusiastically. They gather their few belongings and follow me back to the lodgehouse. Wylie gets cold feet on the way, but (y/n) takes his hand and tells him all about how much better their lives will be with the newsies.

“Can I be a newsie?” I hear Wylie ask.

“Of course,” I tell him, flashing him a grin. “Why not?”

Wylie grins with excitement, and Dawn smiles at me. We’re at the lodgehouse by this point, and I open the front door and lead them in. The others are already back from their rounds.

“Everyone, I’s gots some new recruits. This here is—”

“I’m Pockets,” Dawn interrupts, and we share a smile. “This is my brother Wylie.”

“I want a nickname,” Wylie whispers to his sister.

“You’ll get one,” she promises, “you’ve just gotta show ‘em what you can do first.”

The newsies come over, greeting Dawn and Wylie excitedly. Dawn seems surprised at how welcoming everyone is. Smalls shows her to an empty bunk in the girl’s section while JoJo takes Wylie to one of our free beds with the other littles. Wanting to avoid the lodgehouse being too crowded, I slip out the back door and head for the roof.

“There you are,” says Dawn, joining me a few minutes later.

“Was you lookin' for me?” I tease, nudging her with my shoulder as she sits beside me.

“Would it be so bad if I was?”

“Not at all.” I swing my legs over the edge of the roof. “I’m glad you came.”

“Well, I was told I should give this back.” She holds up my cigar, and I pat down my pockets in surprise. I hadn’t even noticed it was missing. “Apparently cigars are your thing.”

“I meant to the lodgehouse,” I say, taking it from her.

She shrugs. “I mean, it was the logical choice. I can’t take care of Wylie on my own forever.”

“Is that really the only reason? You did this for Wylie?”

She turns to me. “You think there’s another reason?”

I smirk. “Can’t you see it in my eyes?”

She laughs and rolls her eyes. “You’re insufferable.’”

“Wow, a compliment. One more and we’s even.”

She slips my cap off my head and places it on her own. “You’re pretty cute, too.”

“Well, well. Careful, Pockets, that almost sounded like a real compliment.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m surprised, actually. We’ve been sitting on this roof almost five minutes and you haven’t made a move yet.”

I lean forwards and kiss her, light and quick. “That a good enough move for ya?”

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “It was alright.”

I can’t help but smile as I pull her closer and kiss her again.


End file.
